


On the House

by keerawa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: FBI, Gen, Roadhouse, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Special Agent Victor Henricksen follows a lead to the Harvelle's Roadhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the House

**Author's Note:**

> 1st place winner in the [](http://spnland.livejournal.com/profile)[**spnland**](http://spnland.livejournal.com/) 'I Fought the Law' short writing challenge. Thanks to my beta, Stevie.

The Winchesters had used a credit card under the name James Hetfield and spent two nights in a dingy motel in some flyspeck town in the Rockies. There was no cell reception, and they’d made a single phone call from the office phone. Henricksen and his partner followed the lead to a run-down bar in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska.

The place was called Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Henricksen and Reidy walked in on a Thursday evening, and every person in the bar turned to stare like extras in some old Western. The air was heavy with the tang of old beer and older rock music. Two white males in their late 40’s wearing camo took off through the back door. There was a sound of squealing tires from the parking lot. No problem. Reidy had recorded all the license plates before they walked in. Henricksen found himself wishing they’d worn their Kevlar, because he hadn’t been surrounded by this many obviously well-armed and hostile men since he investigated that kidnapping case in the militia compound.

“Can I get you officers something?” the older woman behind the bar asked politely. “On the house, of course.”

They declined. The customers turned back to their drinks and pool games. Henricksen interviewed owner-operator Ellen Harvelle while Reidy spoke to her daughter, Jo Harvelle.

“Sorry, don’t think I’ve seen ‘em before,” Ellen said when Henricksen showed her sketches and blurred photos of the Winchesters. “But I’ll be sure to keep an eye out. You got a card with your number, in case they show up?” She was friendly, practically oozing sincerity. Henricksen didn’t believe a word she said.

“Winchester like the rifle?” the daughter asked Reidy, leaning forward over the bar and actually curling a ringlet of her hair around her finger. Reidy looked down her shirt. Ellen glanced over at them, shook her head, and sighed.

By the time they finished interviewing the two women, every single one of the bar’s patrons had left the building. Henricksen contacted the local field office and the ATF in Omaha, suggesting they might want to keep an eye on Harvelle’s. The following day his email was hit by such a perfect storm of Viagra, penis enhancement, and Gay Roughnecks spam that the IT guys waved the white flag, closed his account and issued him a new user name.

This case was really starting to piss him off.


End file.
